


Quod Rixa

by Insufficient



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Biography-ish, Dark Stuff, F/F, F/M, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insufficient/pseuds/Insufficient
Summary: Sometimes people don't want to talk about the tough stuff. And that's okay. But sometimes, someone has to, and someone will.This can be used as a template of sorts for any tragic thing you want for a character, a muse, a ship - you name it.





	1. The Beginning of the Middle, and the End

I can't really still be all this _sad_ anymore.

  
_Why cry when there aren't any tears left to shed? At least, I thought so._

  
I wake up, contemplate _why_ I'm still alive, and shut my eyes again, to block out the world and _pretend_ I don't have ANYWHERE to be, to _pretend_ that all will be right with the world - _and me_ \- if I just _don't move_. But then, responsibilities, and _stupid regret_ hit me. They punch me in the gut, forcing me kicking and _almost screaming awake_ , back to reality again - and the fact that, _unfortunately_ , I still must wake up.

  
_It'll all get better, they say._ **_Wounds heal with time, they say._**

  
Every time I hear those words, I _roll_ my eyes like it's some _goddamn cheesy fairy-tale_ , a bedtime story that I wish my parents told me like long ago.

  
~~**I don't remember those times anymore.** ~~

  
Those times are as _distant_ as my relationship with this world, and I can _barely remember anything_ but the one guy I considered a true friend, how close we lived to each other, how close we were to each other - and then I left, unable to find him ever again, even 'til this day. I wish I had the power to, though. But these days, it's hard enough for me to even move, to get out of bed, and I do acknowledge that it's because I've been conditioned like a _SOLDIER_ , like a doll to do _this_ and do _that_ at a specific time - and free will means nothing. That's one of the many things that _children_ should _**never**_ have to go through.

  
But, then again, it's one of the things that I can _confidently say_ most people miss about abuse. _"Oh, your child is so well-behaved!"_ Fear. _"Your child doesn't get along well with other kids, but at least they're smart!"_ **F e a r.** _"Why doesn't your child do this more? They should!"_ **_FEAR._**

  
Fear is not _really_ a motivator anymore. _Now_ I fear my (shitty) peace being disrupted by the ittiest, bittiest bug - _or person_ \- that crosses my path. _**And I hate it.**_ I wish I was normal. I wish I was like the _goddamn other kids_ , who's parents buy them things _no matter what_ , who acknowledge that, no matter how _dumb_ their child seems, they may be trying their best - and they're _proud of them_ regardless.

**But, I can never have that.**

When I see them pulling up in their cars in the morning, their parents actually giving a shit, dropping them off and waiting _whether or not_ it's rain or shine. I wish my parents weren't dysfunctional. Maybe I could have that, too. But _"maybe"_ doesn't make **certainly**. _Wishing_ doesn't get you **results** , and _wanting_ doesn't give you anything more than _**terrible feelings of envy and jealousy.**_

  
They can comfortably talk about their parents, about how _COOL_ they are. I cannot.

  
They can talk about what their parents got them. _I cannot._

  
They can talk about **anything** and **_everything_** , and have more freedom than I ever will, should I even _choose to live_ until I'm 70.

  
...........I just don't know what to say.

  
I see all my _friends_....dating. I'm not _pretty_ enough. I've always just been _'one of the guys'_ and I'm, surprisingly, okay with that. Because I'm not pretty enough for anyone. No one wants to be _seen with me_. I'm kooky - I'm **_weird_**. No one will see anything in me other than a damn _wallflower_ , and.........no one's going to come along that **_will_**.  
I already...... _lost a chance_ once. Because of how _gullible_ I was. It **_hurts_** , even now, just thinking about it.

  
That I was  _so close_ to having that _somewhat-perfect life_ , to having _a dream_ , to having someone to _protect_ and hold _close_ to and heal my _aching, broken heart_ \--

  
_And I blew it. Because I was stupid, naive, and trusting, I lost **her**._

  
.....She's probably with someone **better** now. Someone who can _love her_ and care for her. She's probably _forgotten_ about me. Because she's making a life for herself. _I can understand that. I wouldn't want to hold someone back. After all, I can't be a burden to anyone else. Everyone else comes before me. My happiness comes last - everyone can do what they want to do first._..........I still wish she was **mine**. But, because of the monster I am, I can't have her. _I blew my chance. I lost my shot._ And ever since, I've remained a....optimistic **mess** of a human being. If this can be called _**optimism** _ anymore.

  
I'm borderline _suicidal_ , for the gods' sake. I'm _depressed constantly_ , anxious on a daily basis, fatigued, **lonely** , and have high blood pressure and self-esteem issues. I couldn't ask for more, _right?_ Throw in a semi-full-blown god complex and my new-found atheism, and I'd have the perfect recipe for a _goddamn cake_ \- oh, and let's not forget about my journey to starting _alcoholism_. I can barely get it, so why does it matter? I can't smoke, do weed, or even _fucking VAPE_ , for crying out loud - and I'm barely allowed to have fun with friends.

  
Leaving me to wallow in my sorrows.

  
_With no physical or mental escape whatsoever._

  
........Life must......eventually come to an end.

  
_**For me, I hope it will be soon.** _


	2. Truly, Starting Over (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When looking for where things may have fucked up, you've got to look back at the beginning. The past holds all answers, which is why humanity is never allowed to change it. If you change it, you spoil the "algorithm" - and the "algorithm" helps more than you may think.

I remember as a kid, watching this T.V. show, or something - it's a very  _vague_ memory.

But, there were these four or five heroes, who, no matter how bad they  _sucked_ , always kept getting back up, no matter how hard they'd been beaten down. It was awe-inspiring to me as a kid. I wanted to be  _like those very heroes_ \- determined, pretty, handsome,  _whatever._ I just wanted to be like them. As I grew older, that " _wanting to be like others_ " feeling intensified, as I was quite isolated from a young age - and, I always knew that  _quite a bit_ was missing from my quiet, secluded life. 

_Mother, why is my hair different from the others?_

_Why is my skin color different?_

_Why does no one want to play with me?_

I was always avoided by other kids - I was a freak, always a bit  _taller_ than they were, so they stayed away, almost  like I had a really bad _disease_ or something. Could've been stupidity, could've been immaturity. I didn't care all that much, as long as I was entertained in some way. It was then I turned to  _troublemaking_. I was very smart as a kid, but that intelligence lead to rather......unfortunate situations for the other kids, who were no match for my size, speed, and devious cunning a such a  _young_ age. Leaving the classroom, hogging all the toys - beating up kids that harassed me or I simply didn't like - even cutting off a girl's hair  _right in front of the teacher_ \- I remember, she started  ** _bawling_** \- the list seemed to go on.

Ah, writing it down  _does_ bring back memories.

It was around this time I met my  _partner-in-crime_ , who happened to be my next-door neighbour and best friend - only friend.

I remember kissing him on the cheek in the playground once; he turned _so red_ , and everyone started saying we were dating.  _We didn't mind._

But, unfortunately, that's where the  _blank_  rears it ugly head, wiping my memories of _whatever_ blank, up until the year when I moved away in Grade Three, leaving my dear friend behind. And so, the _hell-hole_  part of my story begins.

It was when I  _fully_ realized the situation I was in, and how  _thoroughly fucked_ I was. Like I said, I was a very intelligent child, for that age, anyways.

The first day of fourth grade in a new neighborhood started, and I didn't think it'd be any different.  _I'd just make new friends to replace the old ones,_ I thought. So, with optimism, I strolled bravely into the class, and waited to be introduced by the teacher. Then, all I could hear was snobbish  _laughter_ from the back of the classroom. A boy sat there. Not just  _any_ boy, but a boy who'd be my downfall, the cause of my hatred and  _lack of trust_ \- a demon in child-form himself, like Satan had come to  _torment_ poor ol' me. He flashed the evilest smile I'd ever seen, and the only empty seat was right  _next_ to him. How cliche, right?

I just shrugged off the things my brain was  _screaming_ at me to recognize before it was far too late; after all, I was just a child. A naive one, at that. Who could blame me for believing that a child **like me** could have anything  _but_ good intentions? I introduced myself, and he simply  _ignored me_. I, _apparently not_ comprehending, repeated myself. At this, he turned to me and replied, "Yeah, okay, we get it, stupid. Now just _shut up_ and be good." I was **shocked**. How could someone be this  _rude_? Ignoring **_him_** now, I just continued on with _my_ day. And the day after that. And after that. The week had gone by, soon after, and the attention _was nice_ , being a new student and all.

But, one day, for  _some reason,_ it all went to shit.

Over the next couple of weeks -  _no, a year_ , they bullied me and ostracized me, and found ways to get me in trouble for things that I had no  _association_ with. And you want to know what the  ** _absolute worst_** part of it all was? My parents didn't even care, or try to help me through it. They didn't even know - it was like they  _turned a blind eye_ , assuming that it was  ** _just me_** making trouble again.

And so, I turned to writing. Back then, it could've been considered a more,  _dramatic_ , form of it. More like suicide notes and threats of  _death_ and " _You'll be sorry_ ", written in a green duotang _stuffed_ with lined paper, and I left it for anyone and **everyone** to find. I called out _quite a bit_ of people in the class and my grade, too. So, the vice principals and principals called me in repeatedly, saying it was ' _worrying_ ' that I exhibited this kind of behavior, and was ' _attacking the other children like this_ ' When they were met with nothing but  ** _silence_** and apathetic glances, they simply sent me back to class, where I'd be surrounded by whispers - from teachers and students alike.

It continued like this until I left that school in Grade Five. I _hated_ that place. I still wish it would **_burn_ ** for how much of my life was changed - _for the worse_ \- in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be triggering content later on, if not in this chapter already. There's a good reason it's tagged mature.

**Author's Note:**

> Quod Rixa means 'strife' in Latin, btw


End file.
